No Sweet In The Bitter
by FragilePuzzle
Summary: Mello hears a crack outside of Wammy's. Thus strikes the beginning of the end. T for slightly suggestive themes -- SEQUEL to 'Bittersweet.' Hints of M x N, and mentions of M x M.


**A/N: **I wrote this for -patterns-at-dusk- because she asked for a sequel to my oneshot _Bittersweet_. Please go read that one before you read this one, if you haven't already...it won't make sense if you don't. xD

* * *

I heard the sickening crack through the glass panes of the windows. Even over the rain, we all heard it. The day you fell from your throne. The day I fell as well.

"_Mello!"_

_Instantly surrounded by a sea of hugs and inviting arms as soon as I score the winning goal in the soccer game we were playing, I turn my eyes towards the willow tree in the corner of the yard. You're watching me, as always, your eyes unblinking—you don't even bother to turn away when you notice me notice you. This always bothers me. Are you really that awkward?_

"_Mello…"_

_I turn around, and see you whispering my name. You're sitting on the floor of the common room. Why do you always sit on the floor? Are you too good for the couch that I sit on? Even when I stare at you, you do nothing but stare back—you socially awkward freak of nature. You've managed to capture my attention, but as you whisper 'never mind,' I wonder if it was just a game. Were you testing yourself? Did you want nothing more than to see if you could manipulate me?_

_I hope my eyes are as filled with as much hate as they seem to be. I hate you. I hate your nature, your habits, your…pure and simple beauty, your exquisite looks, your brain that outdoes mine tenfold. _

"_G-good god…! A-ahh…"_

_I wonder if your hands feel the same as mine. But I know I'll never figure it out. They seem almost too soft and delicate for the roughness of my skin. Delicate enough to snap. Like I wish I could your neck._

_I see the few lone tears that drip down your face as you spit up more blood. My foot connects with your stomach again. We're alone. And again. You're still coughing. Would you cry if I called him to come watch…? What about Linda? Are you going to tell Roger…? More tears drip down your face as I connect my heel into your thigh. And your stomach again. And now I'm done—I walk away with nothing but the memory of the feeling of my black tennis shoe digging into the flesh of your figure._

"No…" the word escapes my lips in an almost-silent murmur.

"_No…"_

_I can't handle the growing urge to vomit as I look at the grades that have just been posted on the wall of the orphanage. There's a bolded number two next to my name. And a number one next to yours. I hate you. I hate you so much, you and that number. I wish I could take it and shove it down your throat. To make you feel like I do now—my throat is constricting and I'm trying to hold back tears. Have you ever felt like this? Have you ever cried from sadness and not physical pain?_

"_Number one…again…"_

_Playing with your puzzle. Why is there an 'M' in the corner? Is that really an 'M' or am I just wishing—my icy blue eyes hopelessly deceiving me once again? I don't have time to do a double-take before Matt grabs on to my hand and interlaces my fingers with his and drags me off. You don't even look up. Why are you so invulnerable to my tactics? Jealousy doesn't seem to work. Damn you…you and your cold, unfeeling eyes. _

_There's no sweetness to be found in you. We cannot have a bittersweet relationship when there is only pain. I silently beg you to turn to me. Even if I was not silent, would you be able to hear?_

"NO!"

I slip my hand out of his, running to the noise. Please god, say it wasn't you. But I heard it. It couldn't have been you—it was just my imagination, maybe nothing but a whisper in the wind or a sound passing his lips when he takes a moment to look away from his videogame. But it wasn't you.

"_Mello…"_

I press my hands desperately against the pane of the window only for a moment, feeling small vibrations shoot through my body. I see a silhouette in the rain, underneath the droplets, on the ground. But it's not white. It's red. It can't be you, you're not red.

"Mels, calm down, it was probably just a branch or something!" he says, not bothering to get up off the couch to see what the cause of my distress was. He doesn't notice as I run out the front door of the orphanage, slamming the oaken frame behind me.

I am drenched by the rain as my eyes search for you. It's pouring outside. I can barely see, but my black shoes are stained with watery, red liquid. I have to tell myself it's water. Isn't it ironic that these are the same shoes I wore when I sent you to the hospital?

"God, no…no….please no, god, how could you do this to me…?" I whisper, my eyes widening as I see you. But you're not you anymore—something is missing. I persuade myself that it is just the rain that is staining my cheeks. I can feel warm liquid dripping out of my eyes.

I can barely make my feet move. I feel like my body doesn't want to go to you—I have a roaring headache, my ankles are held to the ground with shackles, my legs are led, and I gain another hundred pounds with every step. I can feel my stomach twisting into knots, and I want to throw up. But I can't. I can't seem to speak anything but your name.

Were you really jealous?

Your skull is split, your beautiful face mutilated. I lean down and flip you on your back. I really do throw up this time, but I make sure not to get any of the vile retch on you. I turn back to you. One of your eyes is so far back into your skull, I can't make it out. Your face is mostly red, stained with precious life-liquid. You're no longer pale. God. Were you jealous?

I lean down. I can see that my hair is dripping, and I shiver, but I can't go inside. You'll get so…cold…if you're left out here. I can feel as something inside me snaps, but I'm not sure what.

I lug your body back inside the building—the warmth and light of the orphanage seems to make all of your injuries that much worse…we'd better get you to the hospital.

I can hear people screaming, but I just ignore them. Can't they see you need help?

I can feel somebody tugging me away from you, so I immediately turn around and smack them away. It was him, but I don't feel any regret. I watch as he runs away like a hurt puppy, his tail between his legs. He is nothing but a puppy.

It seems like forever. Yet no time passes. I only lean down and run my fingers through your sopping curls, warm liquid dripping off of my hands and on to the floor. I wonder if you're warming up. Are you?

"Mello?!" I hear Roger say. The old man gasps as he sees you—I understand why he's gasping, but doesn't he see that you need a hospital? A doctor?

But you're looking better already…you must be healing. I think it was just the rain that made you look worse.

As that stupid old man drags me away from you, calling some of the schoolteachers and helping hands out, I scream and kick and bite and punch and try any and every method of getting away. Why isn't anybody calling the doctor?

"Near!" I finally scream.

I can feel as Roger strips me of any traces of you, shoving me into the shower and washing all traces of your blood off of me. I am left in the kitchen as everybody crowds out into the common room, probably to see your ambulance away. They…must have called the police by now, right?

"He's dead," I hear Roger say. But I can't see the old man anywhere. Are you dead?

I can't live without you.

Near.

I grab a book of matches off the kitchen counter. I wonder what they were going to be used for.

Near…

I drag the flammable tip of one of them against the strip of material on the outside of the cardboard that holds them all together. A spark ignites.

I drop the match on to the floor, watching as the flames lick up the fabric of my pants. I continue lighting matches and dropping them all around the kitchen. I hear the fire alarms go off, the smoke detectors beep beep beeping away. I can't feel my legs anymore.

"Near…"

I think I can see you. Your eyes are finally on me. It was worth it.

* * *

**End Note: **Ahh...this is much different from my normal writing style, but I hope it was good anyways! : D They both died...so it was a sad-happy ending, maybe? xD They're in little shota heaven now...where all of the adorably cute little shota boys go after they die. c: They have little angel wings and halos and are holding hands together. -squees-

~FragilePuzzle


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